Tag: books

Fifteen and into my second month as a Toolmaker

When you’re fifteen, you stay fifteen for what seems like forever. And most toolmakers stay in that profession for all their lives because it is all they know, and, like most professions, commitments make it difficult to leave.

It was my second month at the factory, and Bobby Moor, an apprentice two years older than me, but a lifetime ahead of me in his confidence and outlook on life, explained how to survive in this strange new world. ‘Don’t go anywhere near the women in the press shop above, go all the way round, and if they approach you, run. ‘

‘Why,’ I asked as a feeling of dread took hold of me.

He looked at me and grinned, ‘because if they can grab a new apprentice, they take his trousers down and put axle grease all over the part the trousers covered. And once they get you down, they don’t let go.’

My throat went dry. ‘Has it happened to you?’ I asked croakily.

‘Course not. I am too fast, but they have tried, and have you seen the muscles on their arms? It’s because they have to lift those heavy metal pressings.’ More like men, some of them. And I don’t think you would survive if it happened to you. Your much to skiny.

Boby Moor was one of the most intelligent people I have ever met, and very intense in the way he looked at life with eyes that almost glowed. I found out later that he was prone to having fits and, without warning, would drop to the floor and convulse. I soon learned to place a six-inch ruler between his teeth to stop him from biting his tongue. Looking back, that seems quite bizarre, and I am not sure that’s what you should do.

The letter you hope you never have to read if your a child: but perhaps we should all write one.

A small section taken from ‘Don’t Ever Forget Me’ It’s a story I wrote about an eleven-year-old girl, who’s grandad dies, but leaves her a cardboard box inside a metal safe. The contents make her cry.

A large cardboard box nestled inside the safe. It was quite heavy, and it took all my strength to lift it onto the worktop directly under the window. I moved my stool closer and raised the lid, not quite knowing what to expect. There was nothing nasty in there, but I still cried. It was full of all the things that I had ever drawn and made. Right from when I was a tiny baby. He had saved even the smallest piece of paper from the first time that I had scribbled with a crayon and the first time that I attempted to spell the word grandad.

As I worked my way to the bottom, my hand touched a large brown envelope. I pulled it out, and there on the front in small, neat letters were five words.

They read. ‘To Rebecca, love from Grandad,’ and I knew what was inside.

Mom found me a long time later, sitting there with the envelope in my hand, still unopened. She took it from me, read the words on the front, and burst into tears, and we put our arms around each other. He was very thoughtful and knew that this day would come. It was his way of saying goodbye.

I opened it much later that night when I was on my own.

Inside was a single piece of A4 paper.

The writing was very neat, so I knew that he must have spent a lot of time and patience writing it. Years spent working in a factory had taken their toll, and despite my poor attempts to convince him otherwise, his hands were in a bad shape.

The few years of retirement had allowed the scars to soften, but they would never heal, and he so resented being clumsy.

The letter read.

‘My dearest Rebecca, I am so sorry that you are reading this letter. I know that I am unable to be with you in person, and I am so sorry for the hurt that you are feeling. But I don’t want you to feel like that.

We have had so many good times. Try to remember them as you grow older, but please don’t grieve for me. Grief will not help you or me, and more than anything, I want you to be happy. I want you to enjoy your life.

Just remember this. I have loved you so much and have seen you grow from a tiny baby into a beautiful young girl. Maybe someday, when you’re older, you will understand the pleasure that I have got from being your grandad. Rebecca, although I can’t be with you anymore, I will always be part of you, and If nothing else, remember one thing.

It has been a privilege to have you as my granddaughter.

I have loved you and will love you forever.

Grandad,’ xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx  

It’s twelve months since grandad died, and it still hurts.